Crying in the Night
by WithaVengance
Summary: *Update* Harry is rescued from his relative's home, but even within Hogwarts he's in more danger than anyone knows.  As a master Occulmens Snape is uniquely qualified to help, but must overcome old prejudices and his own guilt. Warnings: child abuse, rape
1. Man's Best Friend

Summary: Harry is on the verge of a breakdown after the end of 5th yr. He returns home to a summer of brutal abuse to which Hedwig is the sole witness, she recruits an unwilling Snape to save her master.

Warnings: graphic child abuse, rape

Disclaimer: I am not, nor do I wish to be confused with, JK Rowling

Author's Note: This is my first story. Some feedback would be much appreciated. Please feel free to point out any mistakes. I would also like to warn readers that this story will likely not be very fast paced, as I write a lot of detail. Hopefully, the imagery is worth it.

Ch. 1 Man's Best Friend

Hedwig hooted mournfully into the warm night. She sat vigil in the old oak overhanging the Dursley's fence for the third night in a row, vainly hoping to see her master emerge from the white house.

Every night before he went to bed, generally between eleven and midnight, the big man dragged his frail nephew out into the yard and chained him there by the heavy collar around his neck. By starlight the boy was expected to complete all the yard work, avoiding the horrible possibility of any of the neighbors seeing him or the myriad bruises that now littered his body. It also had the convenient side effect of leaving his entire day free for indoor chores. His relatives seemed rather unconcerned about when the young boy may sleep; as far as they were concerned wizards, being freaks of nature, did not even require sleep.

The first night of the summer Harry spent in an unconscious heap on the cupboard floor after his welcome home beating, but the second night he was chained in the backyard to catch up on half a year's weeding in a single sitting. He was quite distraught when Hedwig fluttered down next to him on silent wings. He had given her explicit instructions to remain at Hogwarts, knowing his Uncle's distaste for his choice of pet. Other years he had selfishly taken her home with him, unable to face the thought of the summer without her companionship or any means of communication, but following yet another tragedy at the end of the school year he could not face the thought of putting another friend in harm's way. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Hedwig, just as he would never forgive himself for Cedric or Sirius. Nevertheless, he was still grateful for her quiet companionship as she kept him company through the long nights and watched over him when he finally succumbed to exhaustion. She also served as a handy alarm clock, pecking him awake as there was hell to pay if Uncle caught him sleeping in the morning.

She couldn't be there every night as she had her own needs to attend to, but she had never left him more than one night. And never had Harry failed to make an appearance for more than two nights in a row. Even when he was so weak and injured that he could barely pick himself up he was unceremoniously dumped outside, which is why on this third night of absence Hedwig anxiously awaited his appearance. In her worry she even risked being present prior to dusk. But darkness came and no Harry. And midnight chimed somewhere in the darkness but no Harry. And still the loyal owl maintained her vigil until it had to be well after two. She hopped from foot to foot impatiently her sleek feathers ruffled. Something was wrong, terribly wrong and she was frustrated in her helplessness. Finally, she threw herself into the air and winged her way towards London, the nearest source of help.

/

It would seem that the fates had not utterly abandoned Harry Potter. As Hedwig circled high above 12 Grimmauld Place searching for a route of entrance, she spied a shadowy figure stumbling down the street. As she had anticipated the figure stopped and ascended the stairs to the hidden residence. Folding her wings to her snowy sides, Hedwig dived out of the sky hitting the unfortunate man with the full force of her four pound frame. Hedwig could now claim the elusive prize catching Severus Snape off his guard, for it was none other than the dark Professor that she attacked. Snape was returning from a late night Death Eater meeting, stumbling with exhaustion and pain, he was already in a foul mood. Recovering from his shock quickly, he drew his wand on his invisible attacker, but Hedwig expertly stayed one step ahead of his aim until he identified the nuance as a mere owl. Too exhausted to be bothered teaching someone else's owl manners, he growled with annoyance and once more tried to reach the safety of the door, only to once more be greeted with a face full of talons and feathers. Snape performed a ridiculous dance swatting at the incessant animal until it became abundantly clear that she would not give up her mission.

Finally, accepting the impossibility of a quick retreat, the Potions Master held out an unsteady forearm upon which the animal instantly perched. Once still it became clear that she bore no letter. "Foolish bird, you have lost your missive. That blame lies with you not I. Now shoo." He gave his arm a vigorous shake but the owl only dug her talons deeper into his flesh, unwilling to relinquish her grip. Puffing herself up, wings flapping, she snapped her beak threateningly close to his face. "You must be the most irritating…" He stopped dead in his sentence, his groggy mind jogged by his inadvertent choice of words. Of course the world's most irritating owl was owned by the world's most irritating student. "You're Potter's owl," he hissed accusingly shoving his own beak back in the bird's face. Undeterred, Hedwig snapped up one of the dark locks now hanging enticingly within reach and once more launched herself into the air tugging the dark man back in the direction from which he had come.

As this debacle progressed Snape had gradually become more alert and having finally recognized the bird could recollect, despite her current behavior, that Hedwig was reputed to be an unusually intelligent and loyal owl. From her behavior it was clear that she wanted something and he could only assume that she had been sent by her master. Of course the brat had been too lazy to take the five seconds required to pen a note, so instead he, Severus, had to be attacked by an angry bird in the middle of the night. Typical.

He mentally weighed his options. He could escape inside for a well deserved sleep or he could appease the damn bird and check on Potter. He knew the address: all the members of the Order did. If something happened to Potter, Dumbledore would never forgive him. Claiming ignorance would be futile. Somehow the meddling old man knew everything. Sighing heavily, Snape grumbled to the bird, "Potter better hope that he is dying". With a loud pop he apparated both of them to Little Whinging, Surrey.

/

Number Four Privet Drive looked just as peaceful as every other house on the street, but now that he was here Snape would not pass up to the opportunity to inconvenience Potter in turn. A long lecture on allowing his owl to attack respectable people was certainly in order, if he had to wake the boy up to deliver it, all the better.

Snape was well enough acquainted with muggle customs to know that the doorbell would not be met with a welcome reception at this hour of the morning. A quick "Alohomora" took care of the trifling muggle lock. Ignoring the first floor he slipped up the steps. The first door, from behind which came a racket that could best be compared to a freight train, he correctly identified as the master. The next room obviously belonged to a spoiled child but the snoring mound under the blankets was far too large to be mistaken for Potter. The third doorway concealed a water closet that was obviously frequented by pigs. Which brought him to the end of the hall and a rather imposing fortress: a solid door shut fast with a half a dozen padlocks and a towel stuffed under the door presumably to stop the precious air-conditioned air leaking into a storage room. Storage for something highly valuable or highly volatile?

But then where the hell was Potter? The brat always had to make things difficult. He held his light aloft confirming that he not overlooked any doors in the hall. The boy must have a room downstairs then. Snape snorted, thinking that he too would place the boy as far away from himself as possible. But before trekking back downstairs he would satisfy his curiosity as to what muggle possessions could require such security. Another simple spell and the row of locks clicked open; he knocked them to the floor trusting the slumbering behemoths to cover the noise. Pushing open the creaky door he was hit with a wall of rank air.


	2. Midnight Raid

Summary: Harry is on the verge of a breakdown after the end of 5th yr. He returns home to a summer of brutal abuse to which Hedwig is the sole witness, she recruits an unwilling Snape to save her master.

Warnings: graphic child abuse, rape

Ch. 2 Midnight Raid

Snape recoiled from the doorway. The interior was stifling. The room was at least ten degrees hotter and so airless that it did not seem possible to breathe. Snape was tempted to just leave what was obviously a seldom accessed storage room and continue his search downstairs. However, the spy in him could not let it go. Taking a bracing breath of fresh air, he once more ventured into the oppressive atmosphere. The next thing that hit him was the stench. The reek of ammonia was so strong in the enclosed space that it burned his eyes. Blinking away the tears, he raised his wand arm high above his head casting jagged shadows across the cramped room.

The initial scan confirmed his suspicions of a storage room, though why anyone would bother to keep this junk was beyond him. In the corner was a cascading pile of what appeared to be broken and abandoned toys spilling along both walls. Above the junk the drywall was pitted and punctured, marred by scuff marks and streaked with paint presumably the work of some naughty child. The same imp responsible for all the broken toys no doubt; Snape could certainly imagine Potter being that brat. When Snape was little he didn't get any toys, Potter was so spoiled he couldn't even be bothered to take care of his. It would seem that this room was the old nursery, though that did not explain the smell unless they kept the diapers too, which at this point wouldn't shock Snape much given the other junk that had been saved.

On the far wall a patch of exposed brick marked the location of the room's single former window. Snape grunted in disgust; the boarded up window only aggravated the heat and stench. A dilapidated dresser stood against another wall, one door and one side panel were splintered as if something heavy had been thrown against it. A rickety bed was pushed against the last wall; the bare mattress covered with dark stains visible even in the gloom and a few exposed springs poking through the threadbare fabric.

His scan of the tiny room had taken only seconds but the stench in the room was so thick, that only Snape's years at Death Eater revels managed to keep his stomach settled. He turned to leave the hovel but tripped over a bat. It rolled away towards the door knocking into a bucket which sloshed its contents over the floor, releasing a new wave of stench. As he walked to the exit he shone his light into the bucket. Snape felt his stomach roil again as he realized that the bucket had been used as a toilet.

But before the implications could sink in the glistening red end of the offending baseball bat caught his eye. He hoped that he saw nothing more than the remnants of the former red finish on the worn and splintered bat, but the layers of red fingerprints around the handle spoke to the contrary. Stooping to run his own finger over the mysterious substance, the potion master raised a slender finger to his sensitive nose, noting the unmistakable coppery tang of blood. With a sinking feeling he raised the light a bit to view the bloody streaks on the wall, now taking on a much more ominous tone than finger paint.

Finally in the face of overwhelming evidence, everything clicked into place in the spy's mind. The bucket, the locks, the bricked up window, the sparse furnishings, the blood: this was no storage room, this was a prison. His mind still racing, he counted the known residents of the home: the Mr and Mrs, their son, and Potter. The first three were accounted for, that left Potter… He was tempted to run out and check the fat boy's room again. He had entered the house under the presumption that Potter was too spoiled to share a room, but perhaps he had just overlooked him. However, Snape remained rooted in place, his gut telling him against hope that Potter was to be found here.

He kept staring at the wall. The random streaks he had first overlooked, now painted a violent picture of the crimes that had been committed here. That thick streak there made by a body sliding down the wall, the dark stain at the base where the body had lain in a heap, that dent in the plaster there made by a skull bouncing off it, over there a smeared handprint maybe where someone caught themselves as they were thrown backwards, another lower where a young child had tried to claw its way up the wall. Snape shook himself, this was accomplishing nothing. Starting at the door he began a thorough search of the room, turning first to the dresser one of the few items in the room large enough to hide anyone. He swung open the splintered door hanging haphazardly from a single hinge. In the bottom, for all the shelves hung broken, lay a short pile of neatly folded t-shirts all in the same grimy shade of gray, next to them lay a stack of underwear in the same color, the holes visible even in the dark. Snape slammed the door shut in disgust. He kicked apart the largest piles of rubble, but found nothing of interest.

The only other object of significance in the room was the cast iron bed, straight out of a Victorian nightmare. Sneering in disgust, the dignified Potions Master knelt stiffly on the floor, scowling deeper when his hand landed in something sticky and damp. Ignoring the mess, he peered under the low mattress to be confronted by the world's largest dust bunnies. Sneezing in a most undignified manner, he shoved his wand deeper into the shadows under the bed. The light reflected off the brightest thing in the room, a pale arm slung over a dark head. Snape allowed himself a deep sigh; he had been right.

Snape crouched further until his shoulders pressed against the bedframe and snaked his own pale arm under the bed, searching by feel. His fingers brushed against skin, but as they closed to ensnare the slender wrist, his prey flinched violently away, the resulting thud resounding within the enclosed space. Cursing as he hit his head in turn, Snape turned to plan B. At least he had confirmed that Potter was still alive. He would not consider the implications of Potter jerking away at the slightest human contact.

Standing at the end of the bed, he shoved the frame away from the wall wincing as it grated piercingly over the rough hewn floor. Removing the bed revealed Potter's half naked body cowering against the wall, looking for all the world like he wished nothing more than to melt into it.

Snape scooped up the frail body and lay him on the floor where he had better access, purposely avoiding the bed whose jagged springs seemed more an instrument of torture than comfort. The boy must have spent the last of his energy for this time he did not react at all. Snape's long fingers sought out a pulse, noting that the skin was dry and noticeably warm despite the heat. To his relief he found a thready pulse, and careful observation revealed the sporadic rise and fall of the boy's thin chest under the tattered remains of his t-shirt.

Severus did a quick mental inventory of the potions he had on him. He dare not give the boy any pain relievers in his current state, not to mention the boy was likely too far gone for them to make much of a difference. He had several cleansing and healing salves with him but Potter's minor scrapes and bruises were among the least of his concerns. He settled on pouring a blood replenisher down the boy's throat, judging need by the copious volumes coating the floor, walls, and boy himself. He topped it off with the strongest stimulant he carried, hoping to strengthen the heart rate and respiration long enough to sustain apparation.


	3. Safe Haven

Life's a bitch ain't it. Best laid plans and all that. Getting home from Africa, packing unpacking, work, moving into school, classes, and thesis research probably wasn't the best time to start a story. But hey Muse is slave to no man. To top it off I have my annual welcome-back-to-living-with-40,000-of-your-closest-friends flu.

I know you're not interested in excuses, and life's a crappy one at that. I really do apologize for the delay, especially a meager two chapters into the story. I hope I didn't kill it. I hate waiting; can't imagine anyone else feels differently on the subject. I shall also forewarn you that this chapter is not betaed (told you I was impatient), so please feel free to point out any mistakes. I also realized that I was terribly remiss in not recognizing my lovely beta Aprella who is author of her own severitus story "When the lights are down." If I'm not updating fast enough for you go check it out.

I hope you enjoy this chapter though it is a bit of an interlude. Part of the delay was this chapter was a bitch to write. I literally went through three complete revisions, and you should thank me because this is definitely the best. Originally this section was only going to be the intro of chapter, but heh conciseness just ain't my thing. Plus I have a feeling that the next chapter will be quite long as it is, lots of medical stuff because that's kind of my thing. So anyway the next chapter should be up soon, barring unforeseen events, which are unfortunately aptly named, kinda like the forbidden forest.

.

Ch. 3 Safe Haven

Snape stumbled; righting himself just inches from Hogwart's imposing iron gates. Not that he would ever admit it, but Snape had miscalculated. Apparition was never kind to injuries, and though Snape had far too much experience apparating back to the school suffering the effects of a Death Eater meeting, he had underestimated the additional strain that even Potter's slight weight would put on him. Snape grunted as his throbbing injuries made themselves known as both potions and adrenalin wore off. If his own injuries were uncomfortable then Potter…

Bloody foam gurgled between the boy's bloodless lips, rendered garish in the stark moonlight. The boy was far beyond Snape's limited medical knowledge now, and fading fast. Snape no longer lacked adrenalin. He took off through the gates on the silvery heels of his patronus streaking towards the castle.

/-/

Poppy awoke with a start to a silver light dancing about her room. Blinking her sleep bleary eyes, the light coalesced into a form she instantly recognized. Instantly wide awake, she jumped from bed pulling on her warm dressing gown. Earlier in the evening, she had received a message from the headmaster requesting her presence at the school, code that Severus had been called. The good witch had immediately complied, as always, despite the fact that the ungrateful young man generally scorned her services. She viewed looking after Severus as her contribution to the cause, although something about patching the troubled young man up so that he could subject himself to further abuse did not resonate with her conscience.

However, none of that was what had her racing to the window, her heart drumming a new rhythm in her chest. Never had Severus sent his patronus to prepare her for his arrival. Only in the most dire circumstances did he even voluntarily appear in her infirmary. Generally, it was up to her to seek out Severus in the solitude of his dungeons the next morning, to ensure that the stubborn young man was not suffering unnecessarily. Of course with access to both well stocked potions' and liquor cabinets she generally found that he had dosed himself liberally with each.

She strained her eyes to peer out over the castle grounds, finally catching the movement of an inky smudge against the even darker backdrop of the forbidden forest. Squinting, she could just make out the outline of a billowing cape, identifying the smudge as none other than Severus Snape. She allowed herself a sigh of relief. Having been awoken by the patronus she feared that the double agent had been injured too severely to move under his power. Though glad that he did not suffer such grievous injury that he willingly sacrificed his pride, the fact that he was up and moving did explain the presence of the messenger. Watching carefully she ascertained that he made rapid progress. He could not be too severely injured if he could maintain that pace. However her breath caught in her throat as the shadow slowed; did he teeter on the verge of collapse? But to further increase her confusion it seemed he only stopped to rearrange his robes, before resuming his flight at a faster clip than before.

/-/

Snape swore. Despite having his arm wrapped around the boy's naked chest, he could no longer feel the rise and fall of the damaged ribs so shallow was his breathing. He halted. His long fingers snaking up the boy's neck to find the faint flutter there. The only outward sign that boy yet lingered among the living was the blood bubbling between his blue lips with each breath. He shifted the limp body so that the face was cradled in the crook of his neck. Snape grimaced as the cold splatter of blood prickled against the sensitive skin of his nape with each breath. At least now he could monitor the boy's breathing as he moved. He chose to disregard the fact that even if the boy were to stop breathing there was nothing that he could do. It seemed that even dying the brat was the bane of his existence.

/-/

Poppy turned away from the window as Severus gained the shadows of the castle and disappeared from sight. She channeled her nervous energy into preparing the infirmary, even though she had no idea what to expect.

/-/

The normally imposing Potions Professor stood open-mouthed panting in the lobby, arms shaking with strain only exacerbated by the after-tremors of cruciatus curse that wracked his entire body. Even potions and adrenalin could only accomplish so much, the only help for him now was good old fashioned sleep. But seeing as Potter was involved, Snape severely doubted he would be getting any anytime soon.

A few deep breaths cleared his foggy brain, freezing him with a new awareness. Within the sheltered halls he no longer felt the faint whispers stirring the hairs along his neck. Potter did not breathe. Could he really have mistaken the wind for boy's life force? Swearing loudly enough to waken several slumbering portraits Snape resumed his mad flight.

Hogwarts sensing his urgency or perhaps the fate of the wizarding world in his arms, aligned the most direct route to the infirmary. Had Snape had the presence of mind to notice he would have been stunned by the silence of the great hall without the constant grinding and shifting shadows of the perennially moving staircases. As it was he used his long legs to advantage, bounding up four flights of stairs and down two corridors in a record three minutes.

Poppy met him in the hall. As she surveyed his approach she realized for the first time that he clutched something to his chest. Bloody rags? Perhaps the compress for a wound. She called out to him but he barreled past her through the open door into her domain.

Snape deposited his burden on the first available cot, before allowing himself to collapse onto its neighbor. He sat doubled over, elbows propped on wobbly knees, willing his lungs to stop heaving and his limbs to stop trembling. The reclusive academic, accustomed to days confined to his laboratory, was not fit for mile sprints.

"Wha-," began the matron, she preferred to work with some sort of history, and the battered child unceremoniously dumped in her ward certainly required an explanation, but it was clear neither of her patients was in any condition to give one. She would just have to do everything the hard way.

She turned wand raised ready to assess her more dire case. One thing was readily apparent.

He was still, far too still


	4. Hope Fails

As promised, much timelier than the last. As I warned in the beginning this will be a long story. I only got thru about half of Harry's injuries here. Oops.

I have taken extreme liberty's with wizarding medicine. I think magic could be an extremely useful tool, and certainly save time on diagnostics (I think I gave Poppy some pretty cool new spells), but it has always grated on me how JKR would just instantly fix things. I work in an ER and things definitely are not that simple. I've never liked the unlimited use of magic in the HPverse, both Paolini and Croggon introduced the concept in their series that magic had consequence and balance of energy had to be maintained (For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction). So Harry's recovery will be a slow one, as much to abide by the laws of the universe, as to prolong his suffering, because admit it, every one of you is reading this to see Harry suffer.

A lot of fanfics also use medical scans where all the injuries suddenly appear written out on parchment. I never understood where the parchment came from, or how injuries were translated into words. And since everyone can read what do you need a mediwitch for then? Poppy uses a lot of diagnostic spells. I am kind of assuming that her magic is like a extension of her, like a sixth sense, and after she casts something she just intrinsically knows the results. I also like how she has to actually interpret the results, like a real doctor.

Good news is this is the longest chapter yet. Enjoy. 

Ch. 4 Hope Fails

Surveying the broken form Poppy was overwhelmed by the extent of the damage, but years of experience gave her training to fall back on. She preformed the triage spell that was second nature to her.

Temperature: 34.7°C

Pulse: 210 Quality: Poor

Blood Pressure: 64/ 41

Respiratory Rate: 0

Magical Core: Critical

The parameters confirmed her fears. Echoing her sentiment, alarms suddenly broke the silence of the ward; the constant wail of respiratory arrest drowning out the heart monitor.

Snape raised his head enough to see Poppy closing her eyes in concentration, as she recalled a spell that she had not been called upon to use since the last war. For the first time he fully appreciated her skill, as she incanted the complex Latin chant in time to the intricate wand work. A second later the effect of the spell became obvious as the chest began to rise and fall in a manner sickening to behold. As the ribcage animated by magic rose, drawing air into the lungs, a large depression formed in the chest wall, ballooning outward as the ribs fell. The paradoxical movement was so unnatural it set Snape's teeth on edge. 

Opening her eyes, Poppy allowed herself a moment's relief as she noted the steady rise and fall of her patient's chest, although judging by his deformed rib cage it would do him little good. The flail chest was indicative of multiple broken ribs, and many more were apparent by their abnormal protrusion from the emaciated chest.

But Pomfrey would take her victories where she may, and for the moment the alarm was silenced. However, the oxygenation stats showed that the threat was not averted. Air was now reaching the lungs, but it was not being distributed to the body. The blood leaking from the boy's mouth gave her a good idea as to why. As a stop gap measure she cleared the boy's airway, removing more blood and sputum. Another simple spell had her patient breathing 60% pure oxygen, a rather futile gesture to support his failing lungs.

All the while the staccato of the heart monitor increased until the beeps combined into a continuous screech. Poppy was overwhelmed. It would be futile to attempt further stabilization of the heart until she had achieved adequate oxygenation. Every system was failing and she could only work one spell at a time. At St. Mungo's a whole team would be at work on such a case, but moving the patient was simply not an option. And with Dumbledore's absence opening the floo network to call for aid was also an impossibility.

The despairing nurse scanned the broken body as if searching for a sign. Her eyes alighted upon the gleam of metal around the boy's neck. Her lip curled in disgust, reviled by the implications of bondage and accompanying finger shaped bruises; she allowed herself a moment's distraction to send the offending chain clanking to the floor.

The cacophony of competing alarms drew her back to the present. The heart was pounding out of the chest, no longer able to compensate for the lack of blood volume, and oxygenation had fallen below the critical 80%. Poppy needed to see the extent of the internal damage. Another complex spell produced a 3D holographic image of the thorax, comparable to the combination of a muggle radiograph and CT image, hovering above the patient. Despite having had an idea of what to expect, she could not help but to stare in wonder at the damage. Rather than orderly white rows of ribs, overlapping shards were scattered throughout, like so many knife blades. The chest looked as if it had been crushed in a vice. Of course that was exactly what had happened. The already fractured ribs had been shoved into the organs they were intended to protect by the squeezing force of apparition. 

"Poppy," she heard Severus' deep timbre call her. She spared him a glance. He stood tall, apparently recovered. Though sometimes accused of being overly controlling, she was only too glad for the help. She could not afford to interrupt her work with a task that Snape could manage.

"He needs a double blood replenisher, plasma substitute, rehydrant, pain reliever #3, beta blocker, anti-swelling, anti-shock, coagulant, vasoconstrictor, and blood thickener potions." Luckily, Snape had a good memory for lists, such as potions ingredients.

Poppy did not have to watch to see if she was obeyed. Severus and she had worked together not infrequently in the past. As the only other staff member with any medical knowledge, he was called upon to assist Poppy whenever she was overwhelmed, such as when an entire dorm came down with the flu or an ailing student required an around-the-clock vigil. And then there was his own extensive history under the mediwitch's ministrations. 

Snape balanced his armload of potions on the table before kneeling stiffly at the bedside. Using one long potion stained finger he gently tipped back the boy's chin. He deftly plucked the anti-swelling potion from the collection, doubting he would get anything down the swollen throat without its aid. With one hand he pressed the cool glass vial against the parted lips, slowly letting the acrid liquid dribble down his tongue. The other hand massaged the throat, guiltily prodding the hideously bruised flesh, as he coaxed the unconscious child to swallow the first of many potions.

Poppy waited until Snape had administered the first few potions. She hoped they would stabilize the boy enough to withstand the next painful procedure. Using the holograph as her guide she manipulated the shattered ribs back to where the belonged. Three had punctured lung lobes on the right, one on the left. A temporary stabilization spell, which settled into the skin like a golden net, also secured the detached chest wall that had so disturbed Severus.

Unfortunately the bones were the easy part to fix. Another spell filtered out the bones from the hologram, revealing the full extent of the damage to the soft tissue underneath. The image lacked the solid black of healthy lung tissue, ranging from bright white, where the lungs had already been crushed under the weight of fluid, to the mottled and spidery white patterns of failing tissue. A large bubble at the top revealed leaked air trapped against the chest wall. The combined pressure of air and fluid was compressing the heart and lungs.

It would be a delicate balance between giving fluids to correct the hypovolemia induced tachycardia and not further drowning the boy's lungs. The edema already accumulated had to be removed; hopefully the potions would slow further leakage. She pressed the tip of her wand into the boy's side, releasing the trapped air and siphoning the bloody fluid into a conveniently placed bedpan on the floor. The act would provide temporary relief, giving the lungs room to expand.

The lengthy procedure gave Pomfrey's mind time to think and plan her next move. From experience, she knew that the pulmonary contusions would only get worse over the next 36 hours; the accumulation of blood and edema preventing the alveoli from exchanging essential oxygen with the blood. Thankfully, the blood replenisher was more efficient at carrying oxygen than hemoglobin, but starting in such bad shape she privately doubted that even magic would be able to sustain him. 

The nurse was drawn once more from her thoughts by the wailing of an alarm. For a second Poppy's heart stopped just a thoroughly as her patient's.

His magic had failed.

A wizard's heart would not stop, unless by the Killing Curse, as long as there was an ounce of magic left in him. 

Snape roused by the alarm sought out Pomfrey's face. The look of devastation that he found there was not reassuring. He watched her extended wand arm, its shaking barely noticeable. He blinked as a blinding jet of light shot forth striking the boy's chest with enough power to cause the spine to arch off the bed. Both witnesses waited with bated breath but the siren did not pause in its ear-splitting screeching.

Again she struck him with light, and again.

Finally she had to admit defeat. Tears streaming down her face she wrought her last option; a violent spell punctuated by jabbing motions that would force the heart to contract of its own accord. The spell was crude, an absolute last resort. It put enormous strain on the heart muscle and vessels. Eventually the spell would kill him, but technically her patient was already dead.


	5. The Long Wait

Hey. I apologize for the long delay. Blame school. Who knew senior classes would be so much more difficult. I actually have to study this year. Boo.

I really wanted to include more in this chapter but as I do not seem to be making progress quickly I figured I might as well give you this.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I was a little disappointed however that though I replied to reviews that merited a response, no one responded back to me. Call me pathetic, but the reason I have finally started posting online is because I would like some feedback and input on my stories. I also reply upon YOU, the reader, to judge the coherence of this story. I know some of the magical theory I am trying to convey is confusing. At times I still confuse myself. This chapter contains a magical treatise, as an interlude of sorts. I would greatly like to know if readers can follow the concepts and distinctions that I am trying to communicate. The magical theory goes into greater depth than JKR ever attempted, but I cannot stand magic without universal rules and limits. Otherwise the simple possibility of magic destroys nearly any plot one could ever think up.

A reviewer also pointed out that the medical terminology in the last chapter was too advanced. I realized that some of this would not be understood and thought it kind of added to the spirit of the chapter; Madame Pomfrey is feeling rather overwhelmed herself, albeit for other reasons.

Author's Request: You may have noticed that I am hopeless at formatting chapters on this site. If anyone has tips they would be most welcome. Mainly how to put in line breaks.

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, nor do I wish to be. Had I written the stories they would most definitely not be considered children's books, and hopefully would contain fewer plot holes.

**Warning: graphic descriptions, evidence of rape**

Ch 5: The Long Wait

The ward seemed suddenly still and silent without the screaming of the alarm. For the first time since the boy had arrived Poppy stood still. Tears tracked down her cheeks, keeping time to the steady rise and fall of the frail chest.

Severus recognized the debilitating signs of despair. Now was neither the time nor the place. "Poppy, talk to me," he addressed his old colleague. "What do you need?"

The subtle command succeeding in rousing the nurse. "I need to finish my exam. He'll have to be cleaned up. I can't even see the extent of his injuries like this," she sniffed. More professionally she calculated, "I'll need," her eyes sweeping the broken body she estimated extravagantly, "a full cauldron of antiseptic potion. And I'll need soothing salve, bruise balm, unctuous unguent, and ointments. Can you modify the blood replenisher to accentuate its oxygen carrying ability?" She did not stop to wait for an answer having the upmost faith in the potion's prodigy. "He'll need a stronger pain potion, Algoram's aseptia, another blood thickener, and another anti-swelling potion I believe."

"Severus his core is exhausted; he's like a muggle now. I am afraid that I may have underestimated the severity of his state earlier, and asked too much of his magic. I just didn't…" She caught herself on the brink of hysteria. "There is no magic for the potions to work with. Moreover it would be dangerous to give him anything in case his magic begins to regenerate and potion exhausts that tiny reserve sending him into cardiac arrest again. It is the same reason that I cannot use any secondary healing spells on him. So unfortunately I will not be able to use the potions in stock. You will have to modify the brews so that they include only herbal and intrinsically magical ingredients, nothing that will draw upon the body's magic."

Snape grimaced. He knew Poppy had only listed those concoctions that she needed in the immediate future. Not what was needed to see the boy through the day, let alone his convalescence. It would seem that looking after Potter, even while unconscious, was a full time job.

But he soon forgot about Potter as his mind was fully absorbed by the challenge presented to him. As a Potion's Master he was one of the few wizards in England qualified to make modifications to potions. He quite enjoyed puzzling out the interactions between ingredients, though he generally dabbled in darker delights than medicinal potions.

"I will get started on the topical mixtures immediately. The antiseptic potion can easily be modified; muggles greatly underestimate the intrinsic properties of flora. The blood thickener I can also brew quickly, though with the modifications I cannot guarantee its efficacy. The blood replenisher and anti-swelling potions are much more complex and take at least three days to brew. I also feel uncomfortable testing them on a live," he grimaced slightly at his choice of words, "subject. In the meantime I would suggest giving the boy willow bark tea for its anti-swelling properties, though it also acts a blood thinner. Perhaps it would be best to test the effects of the modified blood thickener first."

Despite his exhaustion, Snape managed to sweep from the infirmary with his characteristic billow, leaving Poppy alone with her patient. She had already become overly attached to the mysterious little boy whom had been left in her care. She was determined not to let this child slip through her fingers again.

She carefully checked her monitoring spells. The oxygen stats were still poor. Her tap had been interrupted by the child's heart stopping. She could only hope that once she finished the vitals would improve, otherwise she feared he would not survive the night. With Severus unable to provide her with more blood replenisher, she was already quite concerned on that account.

A buzzing soon alerted her to an even more pressing matter. Despite the now regular heartbeat and the potions already in his system his blood pressure continued to drop dangerously, risking shock. The usually mild tempered witch cursed. If any more organ systems failed he would be beyond salvation. Frantically, she cast the holographic spell again. For the pressure to be dropping so quickly he must be bleeding out internally. What had she missed? She quickly sampled the fluid accumulated in his chest. Despite its pink tinge it contained very little blood, certainly not enough to account for his symptoms.

A flick of her wand shifted the image to the abdominal cavity. She started in horror as she realized her mistake. Pooled along his back was dark sludge. A quick diagnostic of the thick, dark fluid confirmed her worst fear, pure blood. All the blood replenishers she had poured into the boy had spilled straight into his abdomen.

She must discover the source before he bled out completely. So much blood. So much. Frantically she scanned the cavity, but the blood effectively obscured her view. She would have to suction off the blood just to see.

No. Of course. She had been so blind. The answer lay in the sheer volume itself. So much blood could only have come from the liver. One of the ribs must have lacerated the vital organ. And she had missed it. At the time she had been so preoccupied with his chest that she hadn't even considered the possibility... But now was not the time to reprimand herself; she had already failed the boy once she promised not to do so again.

She focused the holograph on the liver, enlarging the image until it appeared trice its actual size. Carefully, she scanned the liver cross section by cross section until she discovered the severed vessel still gushing the precious fluid. Normally she would use a healing spell to seal the leak and return blood flow to the area, but as she had told Severus earlier that was simply not an option.

One of the first things that a healer learned was the two classes of medicinal spells. The first class, generally considered more crude, depended solely on the caster's magic, much like the spells that students were taught in charms and transfiguration. The external magic manipulated the recipient's body as if it were merely an inanimate object. Such magic could not mimic true life, hence there crude nature. The spells currently acting on the boy were perfect examples. The respiration spell lifted the rib cage, creating a vacuum that sucked air into the lungs; a process that only coincidentally mimicked the natural act of breathing. Unfortunately for the boy in question, punctured lungs formed a very poor vacuum. Conversely, the cardiac spell was a poor approximation of the natural heart beat. It constricted the heart, rather like an iron fist, forcing blood into the vessels. Given such imagery it was easy to imagine why the spell caused such extensive damage.

The second class of spells relied primarily upon the recipient's own magic. It was a phenomenon unique to medicinal spells as far as she knew. The body has an amazing capacity to heal itself. Due to their magical energy wizards generally healed even faster than their muggle counterparts. Madame Pomfrey had no doubt that the boy before her would have been long deceased had his magic not sustained him.

However the body was unable to prioritize the healing process. It would diffuse its resources trying to heal every injury, from superficial to life-threatening, simultaneously. If multiple injuries were present the resulting systemic reaction could completely exhaust or kill the host; in such cases it was preferable to concentrate all resources on the most critical injury first.

Secondary healing spells allowed the healers to use their magic to direct the body's own resources, effectively amplifying its healing power. Such spells provided the best of both worlds: the healer's knowledge combined with the body's own magic and regenerative capability. The body always responded better to its own magic; foreign magic, especially in excessive quantities, was often treated as an invader, evoking a response similar to an allergic reaction. The body's own magic fighting against foreign magic would eventually neutralize any spells cast upon it. This reaction was well demonstrated by a wizard's ability to break free of binding spells if left unattended for long enough.

Medicinal potions tended to be so effective because they typically combined both types of magic: ingredients with inherent magical properties and others that would interact with the body's own magic to evoke the desired response. This reliance upon the body's own magic accounted for the fact that most healing potions had little effect on muggles. Blood replenisher, for example, was an ingenious concoction. During the brewing process a compound more efficient at carrying oxygen than hemoglobin was synthesized, hence its efficacy even at relatively low volumes. Other ingredients however stimulated the body to rapidly begin producing more of its own red blood cells, and contained large iron reserves to replenish the body's stores.

Unfortunately for Poppy and her patient the clotting potion relied almost entirely upon the body's magic. That knowledge left her with few options. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she cauterized the bleeder; as a mediwitch she was accustomed to healing not destroying tissue. She did not at all envy her muggle counterparts.

Having checked the most immediate threat she took the opportunity to consider her next action, determined not to make the same mistake as earlier and overlook something. Both his oxygenation and blood pressure still troubled her greatly. It was clear that she need to increase his blood volume and lung functioning. As increasing the blood volume should increase both the blood pressure and oxygen distribution to the body she decided to address that issue first. There was a complicated spell, that she had only once practiced back in her school days, that would push the internal hemorrhage back into the circulatory system. The spell was seldom used due its high risk of complications, particularly introducing blood clots into the circulation. However, as not clotting seemed to be a bigger issue she was willing to risk it. The spell was also an enormous drain upon the castor, particularly when compared to the ease of administering a blood replenishing potion. But Severus had ruled out that possibility for at least three days so she had little choice but to attempt the spell. The boy desperately needed blood.

/==/==/==/==/==/==/

Madame Pomfrey swiped the accumulated sweat from her brow. The last two procedures had cost her greatly, but she was pleased to note a slight improvement in the boy's vitals. Hopefully, they would continue to stabilize over the next hour, for she was quite at a loss as to what more she could do for the boy if he were to take another turn for the worse. Wiping her sweaty palms on her blood stained apron, she stepped back to the bedside, vowing to at least finish the internal examination before she allowed herself a break. She may be weary and stiff, but her own pains seemed wholly insignificant compared to what the child before her must have suffered.

Once more she cast her imaging spell over the boy's grossly discolored abdomen. Already she could note the necrosis in the liver lobe she had sacrificed by cauterizing the bleeding artery. Yet another injury the boy's body would have to heal. Hiding behind the liver, was the severely atrophied stomach; as if the boy's protruding ribs had not been evidence enough that the child had not eaten recently. The rest of the abdominal organs showed bruising and swelling, as expected from the extensive external bruising. The right kidney was particularly swollen, an injury she knew from prior patients was not only quite painful but required significant force to inflict. There was no evidence of the spleen. She could only assume that it had been ruptured sometime in the past and the body had since removed all signs. She choose not to think about the implications of such a past. She was nearly done her scan, following the final loops of bowel, she discovered her last abnormality. The colon, particularly the rectum, was grossly distended. Such findings were not inconsistent with a foreign body, but it obvious the boy had ingested nothing recently and an obstruction would have occurred higher in the narrower small intestine. She had never seen an injury like this one before, and was stumped as to what could have been the cause. However, in light of the boy's still critical state, it was of little concern, and she merely filed away the observation for future review.

/==/==/==/==/==/==/==/

Granting herself a well earned break, Poppy collapsed gracelessly onto the adjacent cot with a loud creak. She certainly did not have to worry about waking her patient. Closing her eyes she considered lying back, but feared falling to sleep if she did. Not only had she been roused from her bed at four in the morning, but she had used vast amounts of magic in the intervening hours. Resigning herself to several more hours of work, she was pleasantly surprised upon opening her eyes to find a steaming teacup hovering in front of her. Sipping the bracing caffeinated beverage she smiled warmly at the potion's master, diligently slaving over his cauldrons.

Normally the prim nurse would never have allowed him to brew potions in her pristine ward, but today she not only admitted the necessity of the situation, but was glad to have help of any form nearby. Severus transfigured several cots into makeshift lab benches and flooed up the required equipment from the dungeons. He had a total of five cauldrons bubbling away, four on the table and the last tall enough to sit on the floor. Watching Severus work during a mass brewing was like watching a finely choreographed dance to which only he knew the steps, as he spun from one cauldron to the next adding, measuring, and stirring, never in the same order. Hesitant as she was to interrupt such precision, Poppy inquired, "What is the status Severus?"

"The antiseptic wash is nearly complete. It merely needs to cool before it can be applied. I believe the salves shall be ready by the time they will be required."

Snape's work was progressing nicely then. Poppy, determined that she would not be the cause of any hold ups, hefted her portly frame up.

With spells being the only thing keeping the boy alive she wished to minimize any possible magical interference. Therefore she would clean the boy up by hand; the labor would also give her a chance to examine his injuries more closely. At the moment the boy was so caked in blood and human filth she could hardly tell what the wounds from the dried blood. A swish of her wand banished the tattered remains of what she assumed was once a T-shirt; a second swish had a modesty sheet gently settling over the still corpse.

"Well, no time like the present," she muttered to herself. In a blink of the eye, she had a bucket of warm sudsy water and a thick terry cloth. Wringing out the cloth she began to dab gently at a swollen cheek. The skin was so mottled with dark bruises that it was difficult to tell what was dirt. Having unveiled half of the pallid face she affectionately swept the matted bangs from the forehead.

Snape looked up from his brews anxiously as he heard Poppy gasp. Please tell me he's not dying again, he prayed silently. But as he watched the ashen matron remained stalk still. If it had been a true emergency the capable witch would have been casting spells or shouting orders. Puzzled his eyes followed her frozen gaze. Even through the blood and grime the infamous lightning bolt scar was obvious.

It suddenly dawned upon Snape that Poppy hadn't even recognized the dirty beaten child as her most frequent patient until the scar was revealed. Severus was again struck by her dedication. No one could ever accuse her of being apathetic. In fact that was her greatest failing. Poppy became far too attached to patients. He knew how hard the casualties of the first war had been on her. That was why she had asked Dumbledore for the position at the school even though her status as a healer made her over qualified. She sought solitude from the harsher realities of the world, content to work on students whose greatest ailment was a bruised knee and homesickness. She delighted in being able to fix her patients and send them happily on their way. He feared with the second rise of the Dark Lord she would be seeing far more of the students in her ward. He only hoped she was up to it.

Her shaken reaction was not inspiring in that hope. "How?" she mouthed, raising watery eyes to meet his own.

"I do not know. But I will find out," he promised. The words were not meant merely as a consolation; Snape fully intended to fulfill that promise. He may not be as much a blood purist as the Dark Lord but he would not allow muggles to get away with such transgressions against a wizard. He was pulled from his dark musings by Poppy's broken words.

"Oh, Harry. When will you learn to take care of yourself?"

She scrubbed furiously at a stubborn mark on his cheek, the tears came all the faster as she realized that it was a bruise. A water change later, she managed to finish cleansing his face but had to admit defeat against the matted mop of hair forcing her to resort to a cleaning spell. Unfortunately the clean face only made the boy look all the worse, his deathly pallor startlingly obvious against the black bruises.

The longer she worked the more she saw that curdled her stomach. Despite having removed the hideous chain, the neck remained ringed by a hideous purple collar, accented by a double row of punctures where the vicious prongs had bitten through the skin. Layers of grime sluiced off to reveal what at first she dismissed as random patterns but soon resolved into unmistakable bite marks, littered across the neck and shoulders. Her tears mingled freely with the suds cleansing her patient.

Snape jerked, disturbed from his work once more by Poppy's shriek, followed a second later by a bang and a splash as she tripped over the water pail in her backward scramble. The Potion's Master hurried forward to help the witch up. Banishing the dirty water with his wand and casting a discrete drying charm he led the matron to the adjacent cot. Turning to examine the patient himself it was not hard to locate the current source of horror. "FREAK" was emblazoned across the chest in bold letters. Snape cautiously ran a finger across the thick ropy scars. They were old scars, well healed. Not the result of some drunken rage; such scars could only be made by cutting and recutting the same wound, allowing it to nearly heal and then opening it up again. The implications of that one scar were more disturbing than any other discovery he had made that night. Whatever abuse the boy had suffered it was not a recent trend.


	6. The Sun Rises Again

Hi. Hopefully I have some faithful readers left. I apologize for the long delay in this story. This is one of those chapters that just didn't want to be written. Thanks for bearing me with me. I promise that after this chapter the plot begins to pickup.

Disclaimer: I know I made Madame Pomfrey rather prudish in this chapter. It's only within the last century that woman have even been allowed to become physicians. The rest of the structures in the wizarding world is far older than that so I believe it's a logical conclusion that Mme Pomfrey would not see men. I myself am a female in the medical profession, so please no raving feminist comments.

Warning: graphic descriptions, sexual content 

Chapter 6: The Sun Will Rise Again

Leaving the shell-shocked mediwitch to her thoughts, Snape refilled the bucket and resumed her task. Dirt was so ground into the wounds he was tempted to empty the whole bucket over the boy and just be done with it. Only Madame Pomfrey's presence checked his actions, remembering how many times she had tended his own wounds when he had been too weak to protest.

He watched the water sluice off, rivulets forming and splitting as they followed the welts crisscrossing the body. Many had been administered with enough force to have split the skin down the middle. But it wasn't until he found the unmistakable imprint of a belt buckle that his blood began to boil. There was no longer any denying the source of the injuries. The equally distinctive print of a steel toed boot did nothing to quell his temper.

Snape saw red. He dropped the cloth in horror as he stared guiltily at his bloody hands. In his anger he had inadvertently removed the crusted scabs over the wounds allowing blood to well to the surface. But the vigorous scrubbing had done nothing to remove the stubborn spot he was working at. The circular lesion was one of many scattered across the chest. As he was reasonably confident that the boy did not suffer from the pox there remained only one possibility. His hand unconsciously clutched at his own chest which had once served as his drunken father's favorite ashtray.

With his iron-will born of decades of occlusion and spying he cleared his mind of his past to concentrate on the task at hand. It had been years since such memories had made him loose his temper. Potter always brought out the worst in him.

The boy's abdomen was much more thickly caked with blood. He had to soak the crust before he could even begin to wipe the clabber away. It was difficult to judge his progress as the bruised skin was nearly as dark as the dried blood. These cuts were much deeper, which explained all the blood. It soon became obvious that the slashes were more than random.

There lay letters fresh and still weeping crimson tears, each framed by an angry red border. Snape's fist clenched in rage, wringing more tears from the bloody towel. Into the savior of their world someone had carved WHORE.

One word. That one word changed everything. He should have recognized the other signs but the mind has an amazing power for denial. Of course the spy was more likely to attribute his oversight to exhaustion. But in the face of that glaring declaration all ignorance was destroyed.

He had seen the signs before on death eater victims but he had hoped never to see them on a student: swollen lips, torn mouth, knocked out teeth, missing chunks of hair, manual strangulation, bite marks, fingerprints. Snape sincerely hoped that was the extent of it, but then Potter never had had much luck.

Snape, never one to delay the inevitable or shy away from the truth, ripped back the sheet maintaining the boy's modesty. One glance was enough to dispel any hopes that the abuse had ended at oral penetration. His mangled penis, lay between bloody thighs, rubbed raw like someone had taken a cheese grater to it. And beneath it the scrotum was grossly distended and discolored. Even the stoic potions master winced with the universal male empathy.

His suspicions confirmed he had no desire to continue the exam. As a general rule he tried to avoid human contact, particularly of an intimate nature. But even if he were to turn the case back over to Madame Pomfrey the task would still fall to him.

_Wizarding society remained very traditional. Unlike the muggle world the morals had changed little over the past centuries. Wizards still clothed themselves in voluminous robes, which could hardly pass as the most revealing or flattering attire. The old pureblood families prided themselves on being prim and proper, to the point of being prudish. Their children were tutored in the ways of pureblood etiquette from birth. Intimacy was not discussed in polite company, intercourse was an act reserved for married couples, and sexual education, such as it was, was left to the family. Hogwarts would never think of interfering in such a private matter. _

_Magic allowed the medic's to maintain a hands off demeanor. Wand waving was a rather impersonal method to conduct a physical exam when compared to the muggle protocol of poking, prodding, and groping. In fact there was little call for patients to even undress. Madame Pomfrey would blush a rather unflattering shade of red at just the thought of examining the male anatomy. The occasional case that would warrant such attention, typically a disastrous experiment with erotic potions, she referred to Professor Snape. As a Potions Master, Snape was required to have an intimate knowledge of how the human body functioned so that he could understand how potions ingredients would effect it. He had then applied for his first aid certification "for the good of the school" at Dumbledore's prompting; he never could deny that man anything. Of course the knowledge that they would be seen by the Professor Snape dissuaded all but the most desperate boys from seeking medical attention. _

Severus had to quite literally pry the boy's legs apart, as they were glued together by blood and excrement. Engaging his dispassionate nature he methodically cleaned the area inch by inch. Like the rest of the boy the region was badly bruised, layers of fingerprints so thick they blended into one indistinct blob. Fingernails had been dug deeply into the boy's hips leaving tiny punctures. And the skin from his inner thighs had been worn raw, but more notably each thigh was marked by a row of shallow slashes. The arrangement and nature of the injuries indicated that these were no accidental lacerations inflicted by a belt, although even this delicate region had not been spared the attentions of that infernal instrument.

The boy was far too fragile to flip over. He settled on a modified missionary position, pushing the boy's knees up towards his chest. Despite having known what to expect, the Potions Master could not suppress a sigh. The wasted gluteal muscles did little to conceal the evidence of the boy's violation. The anus was badly torn exposing the boy's inside's which were a rather alarming shade of red.

_Sexual abuse was extremely rare in the wizarding world, with the exception of Death Eater victims and they seldom lived long enough to require medical treatment. And even Death Eaters only attacked females. No status obsessed pureblood would be caught dead in an act of sodomy. _

_What a muggle London doctor would have immediately diagnosed in an abuse victim had never even crossed Poppy's mind as a differential. She had never seen a case; she had even never heard about a case at St. Mungo's. Of the course if there had been one the mortified family would have kept it very hush hush._

Of course that made explaining the situation all the more difficult for the unfortunate Potions Master. His natural brusque nature did nothing to help the situation, particularly when combined with his sudden lack of eloquence. In the end it took a few crude hand gestures before the nurse caught on. By that point the poor woman was flushed a bright crimson, even the dour Potions Master was touched by a faint blush. Severus allowed himself another long suffering sigh, as the matron buried her face in her hands once more and burst into a fresh round of tears. For a woman he had never heard cry before, today she could not seem to find the cork. Fine time for her to abandon the veil of professionalism.

Just when he had given up on her, she managed to form coherent speech.

"How could someone do that to him? He's just a child." Snape agreed. Potter was still a child, and very small for his age. A stranger would guess him far younger than his 15 years.

"But why?" Snape blinked. _Why? She wanted to know why of all things? _Control. Humiliation. Release. He wasn't even going to attempt to this one. He knew that some considered him a monster. He could kill another human being without a moment's hesitation, but to understand this.…

It may have been the subject matter, but Snape suddenly found himself uncomfortably warm. He pulled at his collar, turning to glare accusingly at the sun. He was surprised to find that the sun was already near its zenith. A quick tempus confirmed that the time was 11am. He had to suppress another groan; they had been working on Potter for seven hours. And the last time he had slept… ugh that didn't even bear contemplating.

Onto this abject scene stumbled the senile headmaster. "Ah Severus I thought I might find you here. I was expecting to see you after the meeting last night." Though phrased casually enough, the comment was a clear admonishment.

"Yes headmaster. Something came up." The silent "obviously" hung loudly in the air, reinforced by his bloody hands and disheveled death eater robes.

"I see. Would you care to tell me why there is a student here during the summer holidays without my knowledge?"

"We were getting to that Headmaster. We have not even had time to tend all the boy's injuries yet, hence this is not the best time." Lack of sleep and stress made his temper short.

Making little progress with his Potions Master, Dumbledore addressed the hospital matron. "Poppy, how is he?"

The nurse shook her head despairingly, not knowing where to start. "His magical core is depleted. I had to use Pelle cor* and Inspiro** on him." The headmaster frowned comprehending the desperation that would have driven her to such drastic measures. "I am keeping his core temperature at 94°F and his heart rate at 30 beats per minute. Essentially I have put him in stasis. That should minimize the damage to his heart giving his core more time to regenerate." She did not need to voice the alternative.

"The most immediate threat is his lungs. They are barely oxygenating at 25% and the contusions will continue to get worse. Hopefully the stasis will delay the effects, but the suppression of his body systems will also greatly delay any healing. I've already overdosed him on Blood Replenisher; it's a much more efficient oxygen carrier than blood but I don't know if that will be enough. Once his lungs stabilize or if I get a reading from his core I can try to restart his heart. Until he has a normal heart rate and I raise his body temperature, blood perfusion will be too poor to promote healing. But without healing some of the damage I don't know if he will be strong enough to survive. I just…"

"I am sure you will make the right decisions, Madam." Dumbledore soothed.

But Poppy continued to fret. "He's in such bad shape. Without his magic he would never have survived this long. Now without it his body is just overwhelmed. And he's so malnourished; he has no reserves to draw on. Oh, Headmaster, how did it get so bad? How did we miss this?"

"Harry is a strong boy. He will be alright."

The self-recriminating nurse was in no mood for empty complacencies. "If he wakes up he will have a long road to recovery before him. He will have to recover the muggle way. It is likely he will never be as strong as he was. I do not know how long he was without oxygen, so I cannot guess the extent of the mental damage. Let alone the psychological damage, to have suffered so much and at the hands of his own kin..."

"Let us not jump to conclusions."

"But Severus said…"

"Severus spoke out of turn. I will not accuse good people without some evidence against them."

The stoic potions master could hold his tongue no longer. "Who else? He was lying on their floor unconscious. He was in no condition to drag himself there. At best they knew and left him there to die, at worst they are the culpable party."

"Don't be melodramatic, my boy. Harry could not have been in any imminent danger or the wards would have alerted me. I daresay that you of all people let your emotions get the better of you. Young Mr. Potter would not be in his current state if you had not so rashly removed him from his place of residence. But what is done is done. It will do us no good to dwell on the past, my boy. We must now endeavor to see Mr. Potter well again."

"Very well. If there is nothing else I will leave Harry in your capable hands. Severus unless there is anything urgent I believe the rest of your report can wait until after you have gotten some sleep. I also expect to hear how Harry came to be here. Poppy, I expect that you will keep me up to date on young Mr. Potter's condition. That will be all."

Snape watched the headmaster leave once again stunned by how callous the headmaster could be in the face of child abuse. Knowing where his thoughts were going Poppy felt the need to intervene. "Lean him forward so that we can finish this," she requested. Snape slowly raised the boy's to seated position, cognizant of the fragile ribs. Peeking a glimpse over the child's shoulder he grimaced. There was barely a scrap of skin left on the boy's back.

At Snape's direction Poppy fetched several of the salves and unguents that had cooled to the proper consistency to apply to the raw flesh. Taking advantage of the boy's upright position she carefully bound his torso with fresh bandages. Snape was about to lower the boy back onto the mattress but surprised Poppy by sweeping the body into his arms and depositing on the neighboring cot. The one that the boy had been occupying was stained with all matter of filth and soaked through. It was far easier to move the boy than to attempt to clean it, even with the advantage of magic.

_Roughly translated as:_

_* Beat heart_

_** Breathe_


End file.
